Dancing in the Rain
by Ziegod Lizski
Summary: Hermione learns how to be spontaneous while dancing in the rain.
1. Dancing in the Rain

Dancing in the Rain

            It was springtime at Hogwarts, Hermione mused, and everyone was quite 'twitterpated'. Everyone, that is, except Hermione. Harry and Ginny were off doing some serious "studying" in the Astronomy Tower, as were Ron and his latest snog partner, some flighty Hufflepuff fourth-year whose name escaped Hermione at the moment—it was probable Ashley or Bridget or Claire—you know, a name that sounds like a cosmetic brand.

            Outside, it was about to rain, the humidity making Hermione's hair even more frizzy than usual. As it was, the Gryffindor table was deserted except for Hermione and her rather unsavory lunchtime partner, George Weasley, whose egregious table manners were beginning to drive Hermione mad. 

            "Honestly George," she said, looking disgustedly at him, "What are you doing to your ice-cream?"

            "Making chocolate soup," he beamed, continuing to mix his delectable with great care, as though he was some famous French chef. As he blended vanilla ice cream and chocolate syrup, his spoon clanked noisily against the side of the bowl, obviously more than what was necessary. Hermione looked to George as if she was going to blow a fuse.

            An evil grin spread across his face, "Why Hermione, whatever is the matter? Do you need to borrow some of Ginny's PMS potion?"

            Just as Hermione was about to tell George off, thunder cracked, shaking the castle walls, and she could hear rain start to pound on the castle roof. A look of absolute glee spread across George's face, and he stood up, grabbing Hermione's arm and pulling her out of the Great Hall.

"George!" she shrieked, "Where are we going?"

"Outside!"

"But it's raining outside!"

"Thank you, Captain Obvious, but that is why we're going outside."

"But—But—We could catch a cold! Or develop Hypothermia! Or get struck by lightning, or worse, _expelled_."

"Jesus 'Mione, can't you just be spontaneous for once?" a happy glint flashed in his very brown eyes, "Life isn't just homework and grades and studying."

Before Hermione knew it, she was free from the stale, muggy castle air and out in the fresh, albeit frigid, May breeze. Funny, she had spent so much time fussing over N.E.W.T.s and O.W.L.s that she had forgotten what rain smelled like.

George dropped her arm and started jumping in every puddle he saw, splattering muddy droplets of water everywhere. Hermione crossed her arms over her chest with a defiant 'hmph;' she would not succumb to such puerile behavior.

"Miss Granger," George said after he was sufficiently dirty, "May I have this dance?"

Before she could say no, he grabbed her and began twirling her around. As much as Hermione hated herself for feeling so, the sensation was really quite enjoyable. Dizzy and wet, the world silvery-blurred from the rain and the spinning, she forgot about schoolwork for the first time since, well, since she was born. Suddenly, though, Hermione slipped on the wet grass, falling with a thud to the ground, causing George to land on top of her. They just laid there, frozen for minutes that felt like hours, their eyes locked. George, however, suddenly realized that he and Hermione were both rather underdressed for the elements; there was nothing between their bare skin but thin, wet, clingy fabric. Her grew flustered and rolled off her, helping her up. 

"I think the water's starting to seep into my underpants. What do you say we go in now, 'Mione?"

Hermione sneezed as they made their way into the empty Gryffindor common room.

"Aw, hell, 'Mione, I should have known you'd get sick. I mean, last year Fred 'n me caught Percey skinny-dipping (God knows why). We stole his clothes, and he had to run back to the house, very cold and very naked. He caught a cold so bad that he was too hoarse to talk about cauldron bottoms for a whole week! Ah," he sighed, "That was the happiest week of my life."

Hermione laughed, which immediately sent her into a coughing fit.

"G-George," she said faintly, wobbling, "I'm cold."

He caught her just as she was about to fall and guided her over to a couch, sitting down next to her. She flopped her head onto his chest, letting him smell the brown tendrils of hair that cascaded over his shirt.

"You're eyes look like chocolate," she said, smiling deliriously up at him.

He took another whiff of hair.

"She's my little brother's best friend, dammit," he thought to himself, "But she smells so nice…And she looks totally hot in those wet clothes."

Before he knew what was coming over him, he kissed her.

My apologies if your name is Ashley, Bridget, or Claire. Normally my ship of choice is R/H, but it was getting…I don't know, a bit boring. So I hope you like this.HaHH


	2. Of Hamsters and Elderberries

Dancing In the Rain

Chapter 2

            Now George wasn't normally one to go about snogging girls in empty rooms—Even though he was four minutes older than his twin, he didn't possess the same nonchalance around girls as Fred. In fact, George was really much more like Ginny when it came to escapades with the opposite sex.

            Oh _God_. It finally dawned on him that he was actually kissing a girl. A possibly delirious girl—his kid brother's best friend, no less. And they were both quite wet; a puddle of water was accumulating on the sofa beneath them. 

            Hermione shivered, breaking off the kiss by murmuring, "You're mother is a hamster, and your father smells of elderberries…"

            "Ok 'Mione, let's get you upstairs," George said with resolution, scooping her up and mounting the girls' stairway. After tucking her in, he sank onto the couch, lying prostate and pondering that classic teenage question, "What the hell do I do now?"

***

            Hermione woke at a very un-Hermione hour, her head throbbing.

            "Why does my throat hurt," she thought, coughing lightly, "And why am I still in bed? I should be in the library…"

            Oh _God_. She had the strangest feeling that she had been snogging George Weasley the night before, and what's worse—she had enjoyed it. Then it all came back—the rain, the dancing, the kissing, and one pair of very brown eyes.

            Then she began hyperventilating, which Hermione was accustomed to doing, as it dawned on her—She fancied George Weasley! There was only one way to get out of this pickled, and that was the most comforting thing in the world to Hermione—making a list. She quickly pulled out parchment and a quill, scribbling furiously.

_Why I shouldn't fancy George Weasley:_

_-He doesn't know the meaning of the word 'comb.'  _

_-He's my best friend's brother!_

_-He's played more cruel jokes than he has freckles._

_-He dances in the rain and makes chocolate soup._

_Why I should:_

_-His messy hair is so cute!_ **("Oh God," thought Hermione, "I'm turning into Lavender and Parvati.")**

_-His child-like spontaneity is adorable._

_-He makes me laugh._

_-He looks totally hot in wet clothes (hehe)_

And, finally, what scared her most: "_He's just what I need_."

            A knock at the door startled her; she had thought that because it was Saturday, no one would come back to the dorm until late. She quickly hid the parchment under the bed as a familiar freckled face popped in, both delighting and frightening her. What should she do? Quickly, she made up her mind to pretend that nothing had happened between them.

            "Hullo Hermione," he said with a cheerful grin.

            She half-croaked, "George? What are you doing in here?"

            He blushed, suddenly realizing that he was in the room that he had fantasized about for seven long years, "You, er, got pretty sick yesterday, went to bed right after lunch. I think you called my mum a hamster or something…Anyway, I, er, brought you this."

            He handed her a lime-green aluminum can.

            She smiled, "Weasley Wizard Wheezes Wizzer? You want to play a trick on your poor, dear, very sick friend?"

            "No tricks, I promise. Just soda. I thought we might expand ye olde joke shoppe to beverages, too."

            "And you think soda is going to make me feel better?"

            "Well, maybe… It's great. All those bubbles, the noise it makes when you open it up, the way your straw floats on it…I tried it for the first time this summer at a muggle restaurant, and I knew we had to add it to our inventory…It just makes me feel happy, you know? Besides, of the soda doesn't help you, Ginny tells me that you are quite ticklish."

            "No. Oh no," Hermione backed up against the head board of her bed, hugging her knees to her chest, "Don't you dare, George Weasley."

            "Ah, what's that I hear? I dare you, George Weasley?" an evil grin spread across his face, making his freckles dance, and he pounced on top of her, "Very well then."

***

There will be more very, very soon but only if you review!


	3. The Girl You Fancy

Dancing in the Rain  
Chapter 3  
  
"Very well then," George said, pouncing on top of Hermione, digging his fingers into her ribs, met by a maelstrom of uncontrollable giggles. He stopped for a moment, though, staring intently at her, the way her body wriggled in tangled sheets, the way her hair fell into her face. An internal battle was now waging inside George now, more powerful than a shaken-up can of Weasley Wizard Wheezes Wizzer. He leaned in close to her so that her face was mere centimeters from his own, whispering, "Would you be terribly offended if I kissed you?"  
  
He looked eerily like Ron to Hermione in that moment.  
  
"George, I don't think--"  
  
"Say no more," he rolled off of her, "I'm really sorry, 'Mione. I just got caught up in the moment, I guess…Must have been all that soda pop."  
  
He ran out of the room, leaving Hermione to her thoughts.  
  
***  
  
"What's up with you, man?" Fred asked, looking at his twin strangely. The two sat in their "laboratory," the corner of the seventh year boys' dorm, hard at work on their latest invention.  
  
"Nothing. Just kind of tired, that's all."  
  
"It's not nothing. I can tell when something's up with you. You've got that look you always get when you get a crush, you know, the kicked puppy look. So who's the girl?"  
  
"There is no girl! And I do NOT look like a kicked puppy."  
  
"You do too! Seriously George, who's the girl? We shouldn't keep secrets from one another."  
  
"What a load of tripe! You didn't tell me about your fling with Alicia until after I found you two...ugh. Too many disgusting memories."  
  
"Okay, okay, you got me there, but I'm really curious. It's not everyday George Weasley gets a crush on a girl. Sure, there was Angelina, but she was just so brutal and--"  
  
George grimaced, "Please, don't remind me…Let's just get on with the new products."  
  
***  
  
Hermione had always prided herself on never letting emotions run away with her, always composed, always together--that was Hermione Granger. Sure, there were the moments when she got so angry that she slapped Malfoy, but he deserved it afterall. But now Hermione sat on the edge of her bed, sheets wrapped around her, examining the can of soda George had given her and thinking rather fondly of him. More fondly than is appropriate to feel for the brother of her best friend, that is.   
  
"How very clever, George," she thought as she noticed the drawing on the can. It was of a pretty girl, her bushy brown hair sticking out in all directions like Medusa's snakes. Beneath it was the label, "Weasley Wizard Wheezes Wizzer Frizzer." Yes, George, very clever indeed.  
  
  
She added "Kill Fred and George" to her mental 'to do' list.  
  
***  
  
The next day, George was feeling terrible. He couldn't eat, and now matter how hard he tried he just couldn't sleep. After 24 miserable hours, he finally resolved to see ol' Poppy, who had grown aggravated with him through years of bludger injuries and 'accidental' explosions.   
  
He inhaled the heavy smell of medicinal potions as he told her his symptoms. After examining him and finding nothing wrong, she gave him a knowing smile.  
  
"So, who's the girl?  
  
"What girl?"  
  
"The girl you fancy."  
  
"What? I don't fancy anyone," he said uneasily.  
  
"Oh come on, Weasley. You've got all the symptoms. And there's only one way to make them go away."  
  
"And what would that be?"  
  
"Tell her how you feel."  
  
***  
  
Okay, you have my sincere apologies for the length. I am sick. Ugh. The "would you be terribly offended if I kissed you?" line is borrowed out of the pages of my real life...I responded, "Would you be terribly offended if I threw up?"   
  
Special thanks to those who reviewed:  
  
Unholy Deity  
nataleen  
Carrie Lauder  
Rally-as-Twiddle's  
serenity  
MistressOfMayhemof2005  
Julia   
oonagh  
Chrissy  
Thayet  
Weasley-Gurl  
silverphoenix  
gracie  
GinnyPotter387  
Ashley   
pinacolada56  
dracoishot1326 CHANGING TO: Chortni Evans  
lavender ice  
Daya  
Kali Shadow  
Gatomon  
AllyMcLean  
Moon-Ying 


	4. Floating on Lemon-Lime Clouds

_George found himself in the middle of a field of oat grass, comforted by a light breeze that was just strong enough to make the oat grass whistle. The sun poured through the clouds like pumpkin juice into a goblet, warming him with golden rays. Gradually, the undulating waves of oat grass melted into brown hair…brown eyes…Hermione. He reached out to touch her, but she spoke suddenly, startling him, "Why are we in a field of oat grass, George? On page 217 of _Hogwarts: A History_, it is specifically stated that there is no oat grass on Hogwarts grounds."_

            George woke with a start, a smile playing on his lips.

***

            Over the past couple of years, Hermione had become rather stoic, responding to the misery of adolescence by becoming unnaturally cold. She made it impossible for anything to hurt her feelings by making it so that she had no feelings to hurt in the first place. But even she knew that if this emotional hardening went on any longer, she might just end up dead inside, nothing more than a bush-haired shell, living her days thoughtlessly…But there was a way to stop it.

            "Please let me in," said a voice. For a moment, she thought it was a voice in her head, but hearing something thud to the ground an obscenity muffled, she knew who it had to be.

            Quickly smoothing her hair, she jumped to the door. Completely knackered, a sheepish look painted across his face, George handed her a bouquet of flowers…and a six-pack of Weasley Wizard Wheezes Wizzer.

            "I hope you're feeling better," he said nervously, "Have you even left the dorm since I last saw you?"

            "Well," she looked down at her very wrinkled jeans. "Not really, no…But I am feeling better now…What is it with you and sneaking into the girls' dorm?"

            He grinned. "I added a new ingredient to the wizzer, and I thought you might give me your opinion of it."

            She eyed him suspiciously. Adorable or not, he was still a Weasley twin.

            "Just trust me."

            Was it just her, or were his eyes actually getting more brown? She thought to herself that she'd like to jump straight into his gaze, just to know what it felt like to be surrounded by the warmth that his eyes radiated.

            He crossed the room, opening the windows and letting in crisp air.

            "Take my hand and we'll both try it, okay?"

            She nodded and joined his warm, Quidditch-worn hand with her own delicate, frozen one. The strangest sensation took hold of her as she sipped down the soda…It was like she was floating on a lemon-lime cloud.

            "Ow!" Her head hit the ceiling, and she turned to see George, a look of absolute ecstasy painted on his face, hovering next to her.

            "Wicked! It works!"

            He did a couple of frog-kicks and pulled Hermione out the window…Suddenly she was Wendy being led to NeverNeverland…And George was her Peter Pan.

            They flew higher and higher until George stopped kicking and looked at her intently, as though he had something very important to say.

            "'Mione…I know you aren't ready to start anything with me yet…You made that pretty clear yesterday. I mean, you've been kind of a zombie this past year. You probably didn't think anyone would notice, but I have."

            She suddenly realized that she was one hundred meters above the ground.

            "George--I--"

            He brought a finger to her lips, silencing her, and pulled her into a strong hug.

            "I just want you to know that I love you, always have, since the moment I first heard you quote _Hogwarts: A History_."

            So the two remained in silence, suspended in the air, and tasting real magic for the first time.

**

Don't we all wish that real boys are as sweet George is in this fic…*sigh*…Any complaints about the length of this fic should be addressed to my evil history teacher.


	5. Flying and Falling

            A tangerine late-afternoon sun was peeking through the clouds, filling everything it touched with gold—Midas' touch. Two figures were embracing in the sky, creating an image that could have been taken straight out of a book of surrealist paintings.

The wind whipped, but George didn't notice; he was deeply engrossed in the smell of Hermione's hair…the essence of dawn and dusk and lemongrass tickled his nose as he stroked it; he wouldn't give up this moment for anything in the world, not even for a whole crate of Filibuster Fireworks. Hermione was fighting with herself internally, denying the safe, cozy feeling of George's arms. Feeling how tense she was, he said, "Let me into your silence, Hermione…I want to know you."

"But you do know me, George."

"No I don't. I mean, I know Hermione Granger, top of her class, Ron's best friend, walking ghost…But I--I don't know you, not really." He pulled her closer, trying to quell any thoughts she might have of pulling away.

            "What makes you think that this 'real me' worth knowing?"

            They were descending to earth now.

            George gave a small shrug and a sleepy smile and said softly, "Because you're the girl from my dreams."

            "You've really got to lay off maudlin muggle romance films, George."

            He could feel the ground beneath his feet now, both reassuring and disappointing.

            Trying to remember what 'maudlin' meant and frustrated by Hermione's cynicism, he continued, "What makes you think that true love only exists in muggle cinema?"

            "Experience."

            George froze a moment, deep in thought and simply enjoying the sight of the breeze play with her hair. With resolve, "Look Hermione, I'm not Ron."

            Her face grew paler than it had been before. "What?"

            "Oh, come on. I'd have to be blind not to see what went on with you two last year. Just because you let yourself be vulnerable for once and got hurt doesn't mean that you have to close yourself off to everyone…To me."

            Silence.

            "Let me into your gaze, Hermione…I want to see what you see."

            Her gaze at this moment was stony and glazed-over, with the eerie look of someone who had not slept in months, the look that George supposed madmen had before snapping. The way that gaze made him feel convinced him that he did, indeed, love her.

            Shaking her head in disbelief, she stuttered, "I think I'd better go," and ran towards the castle…It seemed that these days, all Hermione ever did was run.

***

            "What was so bad about being hard?" she thought as she ran, remembering what had happened with Ron the year before. She had let her guard down, letting herself develop feelings for him, and she swore to God that she would never let it happen again…When she told Ron how she felt, how she had spent months fighting with herself and falling hard for him, he had simply _laughed_. She remembered the expression on his adorable freckled face when she had explained to him what was going on inside of her.

            Suddenly though, the world slipped out from under her, and she crashed to the ground with a hard thud, skidding on a mud puddle that George himself had been jumping in days earlier, hearing a loud crack as her body twisted over her left arm. Lying prostrate on the ground, Hermione had finally broken.

            In two very fast heartbeats, George's freckled face was hovering over her, holding up three fingers.

            "How many fingers, 'Mione?"

            "Eleven."

            "Merlins beard! You're blind!"

            "No, you git. That's the test for a concussion," she said grinning. Despite the debilitating pain in her arm, she still saw the humor in her fumbling rescuer. But she was quickly losing grip with the world, muttering, "I see spots!" and promptly passing out.

***

Various parts of this chapter were inspired by the song "Dejame Entrar" by Carlos Vives… Again, any complaints about this chapter must be placed to my history teacher. I got 3 hours of sleep last night and very little sleep for the past week because I had to finish my research paper (which, if you care, was on Lenny Bruce. If you don't know who he is, look him up!). Fear not, the story will end in the next chapter. *Head crashes on to keyboard in exhaustion* 


	6. Fin

Dancing in the Rain by Ziegod Lizski

            It felt rather nice having Hermione in his arms, George mused, like he was some gallant knight rescuing a fair maiden from a fire-breathing dragon. Of course, if Hermione had heard his inner monologue, she would have undoubtedly given him a three-hour lecture on sexism in fairy tales, telling him that she didn't need anyone to rescue her. He closed his eyes for a second, picturing exactly the way her face would contort as she lectured—the same way it contorted when ranting about S.P.E.W. Truth be told, George rather liked that look—Hermione was damn sexy when angry…In his mind, he concocted ways to rile her up, imagining that he would spend the rest of his life just trying to get a rise out of her, just to see that fire burning in her eyes…Even though in love, George was still a Weasley twin.

            He looked down at Hermione's placidly blank face and was startled by how vulnerable she looked, as though she depended on George for protection. 

            "She may never admit it," he thought, a smile playing on his lips, "But she really does need me."

            The smell of medicinal potions stung his nose as he entered the infirmary.

            "Oi! Poppy! Over here!"

            The matronly Madame Pomfrey came out into the waiting room, annoyance flickering across her face.

            "What is it now, Weasley?"

            As George had spent half of his Hogwarts career in the infirmary, suffering everything from bludger injuries to lovesickness, Madame Pomfrey was not concerned to see him there.

            "It's Hermione…She fell down…I did the finger test! I think she has a percussion!"

            "A concussion?"

            "Yeah."

            Madame Pomfrey pulled out her wand and levitated Hermione over to a bed, indicating that George should leave.

            "What? Why should I leave?"

            "Come come now, Weasley. You'll just get in the way."

            George whispered a phrase that should never, ever be said in front of adults, one that would make Molly Weasley's hair stand on end. Madame Pomfrey, however, simply nodded her head knowingly.

            "Don't worry, Weasley, I'll take excellent care of your girlfriend."

            That shut him up.

***

            _Hermione found herself on a park bench, warmed by evening sun and watching a flock of birds fly by. A voice came out of nowhere, and she turned to see George standing next to her, an adorable look upon his freckled face._

_            "I have a confession, Hermione," he said in a soft voice, sounding more sincere than was normal for a Weasley twin._

_            "Yes?"_

_            "I've loved you all my life."_

_            "And I you, George."_

_            "No, in the way that a man loves a woman."_

_            He scooped her up and kissed her passionately, hugging her fiercely as though he thought that if he let her go, he might never see her again._

            "Miss Granger, dear, are you awake?"

            Her eyelids fluttered open, letting in a world of startling white.

            "You're in the hospital wing…You had a nasty fall, broke your arm. Fortunately, I have better skill at healing bones than Gilderoy Lockhart." She chuckled to herself, amused with her joke.

            "And George?"

            "Oh, Weasley. I sent him away. Judging by the way he protested, he really must like you…And judging by the way you were talking in your sleep, you really must like him, too."

            Hermione's face turned slightly pink.

            "If you ask me, what you two've got is really special. Sure, I've seen my share of Hogwarts romances, but yours is different."

            Hermione bolted out of the infirmary, and Madame Pomfrey mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like "You go, girl."

***

            George wandered around the lake, admiring the way the stars reflected off of its obsidian waters. It was eight o'clock, and he still hadn't seen Hermione. As he had done since his first year at Hogwarts, he came out to the lake to think, and in this case, he thought about Hermione…He thought about the way everything he looked at reminded him of her. He looked at the stars, which normally gave him peace by making him realize how very small he was, but all they did was remind him how Hermione's eyes sparkled. Suddenly, a sing-song voice called, and he turned to see Hermione.

            "I got you a present," she said, holding something behind her back.

            "It's not the swimsuit edition of _Quidditch Illustrated_, is it?"

            She frowned, then laughed. "Better."

            She handed him a bowl of mysterious brown goo.

            "Chocolate soup! How'd you get this?"

            She grinned proudly, "I bribed Dobby with a pair of old knee socks."

            Swiftly, George extended his arms and pulled her into a strong hug, whispering, "I love you."

            "I love you too."

            "Finally!"

            "It took me a while to admit, but I do need you." With a grin, she added, "And if you want to pass Transfiguration, you're going to need me, too. Let's start color-coding your notes!"

            She pulled away, heading back toward the castle. He watched the way her butt moved as she walked for a second before calling out to her.

            "Hermione, wait!"

            "And what could possibly be more important than color-coding your notes?"

            "This," he whispered, pulling her into a kiss. The chocolate soup hit the ground, but neither seemed to notice.

            "Hermione," George said, breaking off the kiss. "It's raining again."

            She looked up to the sky, and sure enough, it was. A smile flickering across her lips, she whispered, "Let's dance."

_The End._

***

Special thanks to everyone who reviewed! Y'all are the greatest! Hermione's dream sequence comes from the ending of the film adaptation of Jane Austen's _Mansfield Park_. For a film adaptation, it's actually rather good, although the book is much much better. I was guessing that Hermione, being a muggle, subconsciously mixed up her own life with that of the movie. I have a lot of dreams like that. Well, I am quite sad to part with this fic. If you liked it, though, I am currently writing two new stories on ff.net that you might like. "Ginny Weasley: Scarlet Woman" is HP/GW and is actually rather funny. Ginny spreads a rumor that she is a "loose woman" so that she can get a boyfriend. "The Weasley Trap" is RW/HG (I've gone back to the R/H mothership). However, it stars Fred and George, who are trying to set up Ron and Hermione. As with any Weasley twin fic, it is pretty funny, and I thoroughly recommend it to you…Now I am done with my senseless fic plugging.

Fondly,

Ziegod Lizski


End file.
